


The One With the Running

by threeanatomies (littlepocketbattleship)



Category: Phandom/The Fantastic Foursome (YouTube RPF)
Genre: Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-16
Updated: 2015-02-16
Packaged: 2018-03-13 08:27:39
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 516
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3374651
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/littlepocketbattleship/pseuds/threeanatomies





	The One With the Running

Guess who’s running when it’s fucking cold outside. Dan and Phil are. They put on their shorts and shoes and at least two jackets along with the expectation of bleeding lungs and a head that feels like it will detach any moment because it gets so heavy. But here they are, running, one foot in front of the other, stealing glances at each other when they can. If they can’t talk for fear of asphyxiation, why not make it otherwise worthwhile?

Apparently, one is supposed to watch where one is running. Keep the eyes on the goal. Turns out that the word ‘goal’ has many definitions. It changes every 50 feet and still, the main goal is clear, right next to them. Risk a glance, risk a shy smile. Risk a nudge, prepare to be run off the path.

Running next to each other makes it hard to see anything else than a profile and a biceps moving in rhythm with two struggling legs and hurting lungs, but that’s okay. A profile can be lovely against the green of the trees, or against the grey background of mist so thick it seems like a curtain, it seems like it’s dividing the earth. One of it has them running, side by side. The other contains everything else, an empty apartment that’s hollowing with memories when they’re not here, people, places, oceans . . . One world is now, the other is going to be later. 

When the last step is taken and a last puff of air is breathed heavily in the staircase, Dan can’t help but smile down at Phil. Shoes are untied and placed gently on the floor. Glances fly back and forth. A hint of sweat, even at this cold weather, lies on Phil’s upper lip, on his forehead, nose, neck. Dan can’t help but feel a little dizzy. Might be dehydration and exhaustion, but it also makes him feel more at ease, light-headed. 

‘Come on now’ Phil says. A flash of blue, a sweep of his black hair, and he is running down the hallway, about four steps, and comes to a halt in front of the bathroom door. He cocks his head in question.

Dan mirrors him, and they stand there for some seconds, just staring at each other, same position, same grin, same bleeding lungs.   
Finally, Dan gives in. His feet feel too heavy to walk, his vision seems to zoom in onto Phil’s face, and whatever alertness the running might have caused is vanished in the cosy feeling of security in the apartment. He is about to slump against the door, feet almost giving in, when Phil gently manhandles him into the small room, dark if it were not for the small patches the sun carves onto the tiles.

Clothes are shed, socks abandoned, little heaps of cotton and polyester form on the floor and are soon joined by the spray of water that leaks through the glass door when hair gets washed and the film of sweat and cold is washed away in a runlet of lukewarm water that quickly gets cold.


End file.
